


in the shadows (while you wait)

by sychononny



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: (not major), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Atmospheric, Creepy, Danger, Darkfic, Darkness, Deals, Favors, Gen, Horror, Invisibility, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Mysterious, Other, Promises, Supernatural Elements, Unsettling, implied Personification of Death, implied demon, moviestar!Misha, poss creature!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sychononny/pseuds/sychononny
Summary: It took a minute for Misha to notice that something was wrong. The way the busy set around him was now completelystilland empty. The way the wind shivered down his spine like icy fingernails. The way the silence was so thick it nearly crackled with undefined tension...
Relationships: Misha Collins & ?, could be interpreted as implied beginning Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins if wanted, or Misha Collins/OMC, or just platonic genfic
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	in the shadows (while you wait)

**Author's Note:**

> This has horror elements as well as a potentially creepy atmosphere. Use your own discretion if darkfic, dark themes, horror elements, creepy or unsettling atmosphere, or any of the tags are a concern for you. Otherwise, enjoy!

The thing that no one mentions about filming movies is just how much time you spend waiting, and waiting and _waiting_. Then a few minutes of acting for a scene which might not even make the final screen cut. And then another unpredictable measure of time going over lines you already know, staying on hand, tuning out the constant cacophony of noise and chaos between those brief working moments.

With practice though, you learn to go with the flow of it. To tune things out until all the shouting and running cogs of the production machine spin and swirl around you, a background hum with bright splashes as you browse on your phone and try not to smudge your makeup because Sofia _will_ kill you if you mess up the fake blood again. Everything else just fades. 

That must be why it took a minute for Misha to notice that something was wrong. The way the busy set around him was now completely _still_ and empty. The way the wind shivered down his spine like icy fingernails. The way the silence was so thick it nearly crackled with undefined tension. 

The way nothing _was_ there but Misha had never felt so afraid. 

"Hello?" he asked. He didn't expect someone to answer. After all, no one was there. The whole place felt abandoned, not even voices in the distance or movement besides the wind. He couldn't be more alone.

Except a voice did answer. Which really, that was far worse. 

Because there was no body to go with the voice. It came from his left. A scuff of a shoe. A cough that sounded even nearer. And then a touch on his cheekbone, like fingertips maybe, though he couldn't be sure as he threw himself back, staring at the empty air where there was nothing. _Nothing_. 

Nothing but the empty air, which then laughed. 

"Alright, great joke you guys. Very funny. You definitely got me this time. You can all come out _now_." He hoped the confidence in his voice hid the shaking in his hands. They _knew_ he didn't like scary pranks. He wasn't opposed to having a good laugh on set but there were some types he just didn't do well with. The creepy, eerie vibe he was getting right now? Definitely the wrong kind of prank. But the expected laughter and people coming back into view now that he'd called it, the eagerness to share in the joke as a group just to take some of the tedium out of their day... didn't materialise. 

Nothing stirred. Nothing. 

Except for the darkness which clucked his tongue. "Now Misha, don't tell me you don't remember me? Has it really been too long?" 

Sudden wind scattered leaves at his feet and that didn't feel so friendly. 

"Look! This isn't funny guys. You can stop now. Really." Not all the training in the world could keep his voice from shaking on a few of the words. He kept backing up from where he'd heard the voice last. But it was awfully hard to evade something that you can't see. He kept imagining he saw the shadows flicker. Over there. No, there. No wait. 

Kept telling himself that the shadow over by the lighting equipment looked darker than the rest. Kept his eyes trained on it as he kept putting distance from it. 

"I'm sure you haven't forgotten me completely." The voice is there, low in his ear. Then something grips the back of his neck and there is a pinch, a bright white hot pinch, then he's falling. Flickers of memories and half-sensations: _His mother's voice, his last report card, Virginia in the fall, California summers, girlfriends, boyfriends, Vancouver, childhood cartoons..._

He can't struggle. His body won't cooperate. His feet are dangling in midair and his mind feels like someone is channel hopping on fastforward. 

_...warm dinners, hungry nights, moving yet again, clogging practice, studying by the streetlights bleeding in through the window..._

His heart feels like it's hammering in his chest. There is a growing sense of dread inside of him. Half of these memories aren't too bad, the other half he isn't too fond of... but he likes to think that he's never been through anything that's too bad, too terrible. But he's getting flickers. Forgotten nightmares. Memories of a darkness that scared him. 

"Mmmm, you tried to forget me? We'll have to talk about that." The voice sounds calm in his ear, but the memory in question has been found. Misha's mind is filled with the smell of copper. Of a stranger with horribly empty eyes, lying on the ground in the darkness of a bad alleyway. Of an unseen voice, made out of shadows, that had asked him if Misha would rather _make a deal_ ...just to be allowed to walk away intact that night. 

His knees hit the concrete. But the terror from his memories still lingered, fresh as if it had just happened. His knees ached but he scrambled around. And around. And around. Nothing in sight. 

The air is _empty_ , and still the voice comes out low from the space right next to him, making him jolt even as he stares right through it. 

"It's been thirteen years, Misha." The air speaks in front of him. It sounds almost calm and conversational, but that fact does nothing to ease his fears. "I've come to Collect."

He starts to shake his head, but a surprisingly gentle touch stills the movement before he can get any of the words out. The voice has a sudden, dangerous quality to it now, "Be careful how you answer. You know what happens to those who try to back out of their deals with me."

Behind every reluctant blink, Misha recalls images of unseeing eyes. And copper, so much wet and sticky copper. The tang of it cloying and heavy on every inhale until he was sure he'd never taste anything else ever again. 

It was never difficult to imagine that as _himself_ to be left dead on the ground. He'd had nightmares of that very thing for years, until he'd managed to stuff it down far enough, until it became vague and indistinct. Just an uneasiness which he could never fully shake towards any dangers that he couldn't _see_. About darkness, and places that were _too quiet_. Every time he'd mistaken shadows that _might_ have moved and or heard someone's voice before he could see who it was. The very reason he's avoided watching horror movies and keeps to the sillier stuff for Halloween. Despite all of the years that it's been laughed off, habitually, as just his imagination running wild... it's all so very vivid now.

"It's just one small favor, mortal. Then you'll be on your way." If it weren't for the terror, it could almost sound kind. Almost. 

It's too bad that Misha knows it's a lie.


End file.
